


Don't Get Too Close

by acemusic



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Broken Friendships, Other, Self-Doubt, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-25 23:43:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21364627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acemusic/pseuds/acemusic
Summary: I'm suffering. I'm still laughing. Why am I laughing? Someone will hear. No, I remember, my parents and brother already left the house. They won't hear. The walls are thick. I keep laughing. I'm hysterical. Why can't I stop laughing?





	Don't Get Too Close

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of a rant story; I've had too many pent-up emotions recently and I really had to get them out.

Everything around me is drowning out. I can vaguely make out the surroundings of the gray corridor I would normally call a school hallway. Thoughts flying left and right in my pounding skull. Everything getting blurry. Lack of oxygen. I can't breathe I can't see _I can't hear I can't think I can't--_

What am I doing wrong? Do they all hate me? They hate me, don't they? Did I make a mistake? No, aren't I one anyway? Why am I here in the first place? Why did I choose to be here at all? How did I screw up again? How did I mess up all over again? Why am I like this?

Memories. No, not memories. Nightmares. Nightmares flooding into my brain. Nightmares surrounding me, taking hold of me, digging their wretched claws into my mind-

That night. January 11th - how do I remember it so clearly? I'm in my room. Playing video games. Zelda?... No, Smash Brothers. My favorite. A typical Friday night in my room. Standing up after a battle. I'd won. Again. The CPUs aren't that strong anymore, are they. Setting down my Switch on the dresser. Looking out the window. Blinking once, twice. My eyes widen. An arrow of realization piercing my heart. The thought of it all dawning on me. Its meaninglessness. The lack of understanding of the unknown. I collapse to my knees on the floor. Hand clutching the t-shirt over my heart. Gasping for air. I can't breathe. Clutching the edge of my bed as I force myself to stand up. Falling again onto my bed. Curling up. Gripping my pillows. Hot tears running down my cheeks. They aren't stopping. I'm Hiding from reality. Hiding from life. Hiding from death. Hiding from everything. Hiding from everything, everything -

Another night. I'm not in my room anymore. February 20th. It hasn't gotten better. No, it's gotten worse. I trudge through every day, trying to force every thought out of my mind. Finding comfort in theories. Finding comfort in my friends. To no avail. I can't stop thinking about it. I'm home now. Next to the staircase. By the front door? No, by the stairway closet. Back against its door. My heart is so heavy. I want to tell someone, anyone, how I feel. But they won't listen. I laugh. I've tried to tell people already. But no one understands. No one takes me seriously. They think it's part of being a teenager. They think it's just my hormones. I'm suffering. I'm still laughing. Why am I laughing? Someone will hear. No, I remember, my parents and brother already left the house. They won't hear. The walls are thick. I keep laughing. I'm hysterical. Why can't I stop laughing? There. I've stopped laughing. I'm moving. In the kitchen. By the sink, no, by the stove, no- The knives. The kitchen knives. I'm grabbing something. What am I grabbing? The butcher knife. I know what I'm doing now.

My hands, gripping the knife, tremble as I raise them to my throat.

Its glimmering tip centimeters away from the end of it all.

I breathe shakily.

I pull away.

Voices. Whose voices? I open my eyes. When had I closed them? Coldness against my back. I'm on the floor. Lights blotted out by heads. The heads of my classmates. The heads of my friends. Friends? Why would I have friends? I don't deserve friends. They're talking. Talking to me. Asking me if I'm okay. They're concerned. Why? They don't have a reason to be. One of them is pulling me up. I'm on my feet. Standing. I don't deserve to be standing. My mouth opens. I say that I'm fine. They're still lingering here. But they leave. They all leave. Of course they leave. They should leave me. I look around. I'm alone again. 

As I should be.


End file.
